


it’s kind of our routine

by somerdaye



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-30
Updated: 2012-07-30
Packaged: 2017-11-11 01:22:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/472891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somerdaye/pseuds/somerdaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall only gets to kiss Harry on New Year’s, and does not in any way want more than that. Really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it’s kind of our routine

**Author's Note:**

> beta’d by my lovely laurencake, whose soul i also received in return for this. sort of rambling and nonsensical and filled with too many feelings and too little sex to be labelled a pwp, which is what i was originally going for. sighs.

The first New Year’s they spent together was fine. More than, actually, if you asked Niall. There was lots of alcohol they weren't technically supposed to drink and a kick-ass movie marathon. At one point Liam and Louis started crying over one of the rom coms Zayn picked as a joke, which was pretty damned funny. Up until the countdown, which Louis switched over to in the middle of Iron Man -- rather brave of him, Niall thought, what with how much they all loved it -- everything was fairly typical One Direction. Some might say the countdown was also "typical One Direction", but Niall would neither confirm or deny that. See, there were roughly thirty-six seconds before 2011 started when Louis asked who was going to be his first kiss of the new year.

"Certainly not," Liam immediately said.

"Oh, _Liam_ ," Louis simpered. They were already sitting pretty close together due to the whole crying on each other’s shoulders lark, so Louis didn't expel a ton of effort in jumping Liam, tweaking at his nipples and making exaggerated kissy noises. Zayn, who was a little drunk and a lot amused, joined the fray and helped hold a distressed Liam down.

Niall was watching them wrestle from a safe distance with a drunk, silly grin when Harry leaned all up in his space.

"Be my kiss, Nialler?" he asked. He was all fluttering lashes and vodka breath and there was only eleven seconds left of the year 2010 -- the best damn year of Niall's life -- and Niall could see no logical reason to say no.

"Go ahead, mate," he said.

Six seconds and Harry was smiling widely; three seconds and Liam was chanting the word _no_ ; one second and Harry's vodka breath was on Niall's lips -- they were kissing before the reporter on the telly announced the new year. Harry’s kisses were soft and sweet, and Niall was glad that Louis and Zayn were distracted by trying to smack their lips onto Liam's at the same time, because he was sure that they would tease him relentlessly for the way he melted into it, cupping Harry's jaw with the hand that wasn't holding his beer. The sound of Liam Hulk-roaring and flinging the other boys off him had them breaking apart quickly. Too quickly, like they had something to hide.

Which was, of course, ridiculous, but the others didn't see that the kiss happened, and he and Harry certainly didn't mention it.

Ever.

It became one of those things that you’re not entirely sure happened, due to the combination of alcohol and time and the sheer improbability of the event. In fact, it just sort of ended up being something Niall legitimately forgot occurred until he saw Harry licking peanut butter off his lips or they were asked in an interview who the best kisser of the band was. (Which they got asked an awful lot for boys who were encouraged to tone down the homoeroticism, really.) Every reminder was a bit like a jolt, like, oh yeah, that happened. He’d kissed Harry -- or, more accurately, Harry had kissed him.

Quite well, too. Not the best kiss of Niall’s life or anything, but nice enough. Nice enough that whenever something reminded him of it, he had trouble _not_ thinking about it. It wasn’t like he wanted it to happen again, because he wasn’t attracted to Harry. Except how he kind of did, because everyone was a little attracted to Harry.

At least, that’s what he told himself. It made the whole ‘I want to kiss a bloke’ thing much easier to deal with.

Besides, even if he did want it to happen again -- which he didn’t -- he’d have to be blind and stupid not to realise why he couldn’t do anything about it.

Louis.

Really, if either of them thought they were being subtle, they were stupider than the hypothetical Niall who thought he had a chance with Harry. They all _knew_ , it just wasn’t something any of them talked about. They never had, except once in the wee hours of the morning at the bungalow, when Harry and Louis were dead to the world and curled around each other like they’d met years ago, not weeks, and that was just a precursory ‘are you guys going to be assholes about this’ conversation.

So Niall didn’t want to kiss Harry again, because he wasn’t into guys, and Harry wasn’t into _him_ , and the whole thing seemed like a distant memory. Or a dream. Either way, for months Niall struggled with the reminders of the New Year’s kiss which didn’t _mean_ anything, and he managed to keep his panic in by simply thinking, well, it wasn’t like anything could happen anyway, what with Louis.

Then Eleanor happened, and everything sort of fell to shit.

At first Niall was confused, and then he was even more confused because he was the only one confused, and after a few weeks of mounting confusion, he took it to the other boys.

“Why is Louis still seeing that Eleanor girl?” he asked Liam and Zayn during an advert for some water park.

“I guess he likes her,” said Liam.

“I mean why, because, you know, Harry,” Niall said. When all the boys did was stare at him blankly, he rolled his eyes. They were really going to make him say it, this thing that they’d managed not to mention for over a year of being One Direction. “You know, the whole Harry-and-Louis thing that we don’t talk about?”

“Er,” Zayn said, looking to Liam. “We don’t talk about a Harry-and-Louis thing because there isn’t one to talk about.”

Niall laughed.

“Good one, lads.”

“No, seriously,” Liam said. “Harry and Lou aren’t together. I -- we thought you knew?”

Nodding, Zayn said, “I asked Louis about it months ago, and, no, they’ve never been -- have you spent the _year_ thinking they were a thing, Nialler?”

The way they were looking at Niall, all sympathetic and incredulous, made Niall realise that maybe he should’ve said something about it sooner. He could feel himself blush under the scrutiny. What sort of friend was he? He had indeed thought there was a thing between them for as long as he’d known them, and he thought he conveyed that pretty well to Zayn and Liam by staying completely silent.

“Oh, _Niall_. You should’ve asked.”

“I thought it was -- I don’t know, I thought we didn’t talk about it,” Niall said, fidgeting with the fabric of Liam’s sofa. “I thought... well, I don’t really know what I thought.”

“See, if you’d asked one of them --”

“-- like we did --”

“-- like normal people do, man, you wouldn’t have been thinking that for so long.” Zayn wrapped an arm around him like he was softening the harshness of his words. “Sorry we didn’t tell you, though, I kind of thought you’d be the first to ask them what the hell was going on.”

Niall shrugged helplessly. “It seemed pretty obvious what was going on.”

“Sorry,” Zayn said again.

They left it alone, then, and watched their programme, for which Niall was grateful. His face was burning; how had he never asked? He’d just taken it as an unspoken fact that Harry and Louis were together. God, he was as bad as some of the fans.

Now that he knew there wasn’t anything between them, the Eleanor thing made sense. In fact, a few things made sense, but they were overshadowed by the list of things that didn’t. Like, yeah, the band in general was pretty touchy-feely and close, but they took it to a whole new level -- if someone who spent all their time with you, such as Niall, thought you were together for a whole year, you probably weren’t _normal_ best mates, yeah? -- and sure, he could chalk it all up to both Harry and Louis being shameless flirts, but he’d never thought that was what it was and, well, he wasn’t entirely convinced the whole misunderstanding was all in his head.

He focused on that, on the way they flirted on twitter and cuddled on the tour bus and sang suggestive lyrics right in each others’ faces, because it was easier than thinking about Harry’s mouth and how much he really did want to kiss it, just a little. He didn’t have Louis as an excuse now, and he found himself thinking about kissing Harry at the most inconvenient of times.

Like when he was sat next to Harry for a cookie-cutter interview, and the sofa was positioned in a way that it didn’t seem suspicious at all that he stared at Harry’s lips for most of it. It was pretty easy to zone out and let the other boys do the talking, but one question did perk his ears up.

“So, the girls want to know -- and I don’t blame them! -- who the best snog of the band is,” the interviewer was saying, smiling at Zayn like she wanted to eat him.

Louis asked, “How are _we_ supposed to know?”, while Zayn said, “It’s me, it’s totally me -- shut up, Lou.”

“Harry,” said Niall. He hadn’t realised he said it out loud until Harry barked a laugh and Liam did something weird with his eyebrows. Niall winked like it was a big joke. Hah, One Direction and their bromances. Everyone laughed, because that’s what they did, because if they didn’t then they might get in trouble. Not necessarily from Simon or management or anyone else they considered ‘in charge’, but Niall had seen some of the tweets Louis in particular had received, and it was scary to think that some of those homophobic people were actually _fans_ of One Direction.

“Thanks, man,” Harry said.

“Anytime.”

The way Harry ducked his head and grinned told Niall that he wasn’t the only one who remembered the kiss. The interview moved on easily to other, very familiar topics, like musical influences and how many of them were single. Niall thought that he could do one of these in his sleep, they were getting so repetitive. Would it really be so hard to think of some _different_ questions?

He found himself zoning out again, fantasising about a new and interesting interview, because thinking of ridiculous questions was better than wondering if he was the only one who couldn’t stop thinking about one stupid New Year’s kiss.

\---

It was New Year’s, again, and Harry and Louis were throwing a party.

Niall had been talking to Liam and some random girl, but somewhere between his fifth and seventh bottle he ended up alone on the sofa. He could hear Zayn shouting in a ridiculous accent from the kitchen, and he thought Liam said something about going home, but he had no idea where Harry and Louis were. Off being good hosts or whatever, probably.

There was a few minutes left before midnight when a girl he didn’t recognise dropped onto the empty cushion beside him, smiling.

“Hi,” she said brightly.

“Hello,” said Niall.

She opened her mouth to say something else, but she was interrupted by the appearance of one Harry Styles. He seemed to actually come out of nowhere, drink in hand, looking pissed in both senses of the word.

“Hi, Lisa,” Harry said, unsmiling. “Mind if I steal Niall for a moment?”

“I -- of course, yeah.” The girl whose name was apparently Lisa stood and said, “see you around,” to both of them before wandering into the throng of people lazily dancing. Harry watched her go, then looked back at Niall. He didn’t look angry anymore, just -- sad.

It was Niall’s duty as a friend to ask what was wrong; he reached out and tugged Harry’s wrist until he sat down in the space Lisa had vacated and did so.

“I just,” said Harry, staring at Niall’s knee. “Will you be my kiss, Nialler?”

Familiar, yes. Something Niall had been hoping to hear, yes. The way Harry asked it was off, though -- forced, like.

“Why?”

Harry looked him in the eye, then, surprised by the question. “What do you mean, why?”

You learned a lot about someone when you spent ninety percent of your time with them, and Harry might’ve sounded innocent enough, but Niall caught the way Harry’s gaze flicked to the left for a split second and looked in that direction for a clue. There were people talking, laughing, taking pictures, snogging -- regular party things happening. He was about to turn back to Harry and demand an answer when one of the snogging couples started giggling into each other’s necks and, oh.

“I didn’t know Eleanor was here,” Niall said in a casual sort of way.

“Why wouldn’t she be?” Harry took a long gulp of the drink in his hand and grimaced a half-smile. “They’re pretty serious, of course she’s here.”

So it hadn’t all been in Niall’s head.

He raised his own bottle to his lips, still watching Harry’s expression carefully. “You don’t seem very happy that she’s here, mate. You’re acting a bit like a jealous teenage girl.”

“That’s sexist,” said Harry. “And no, I’m not. I just wish they’d -- I don’t know, not do that _here_.”

“Would you rather they got a room?” Niall asked, and Harry visibly blanched. He opened and closed his mouth several times, but didn’t, or couldn’t, form actual words. It didn’t matter anyway -- people around them were chanting, counting down from ten, and it was the easiest thing in the world to cup the base of Harry’s skull and pull him in for a kiss. A comfort kiss, Niall thought. Nothing wrong with a snog between mates if one of them was upset and both were radically less than sober.

Vaguely, Niall registered that people were shouting ‘Happy New Year!’ around him, but he’d been wanting to kiss Harry for the whole of 2011, so he didn’t particularly care about anything beyond Harry’s lips -- and tongue.

Both of them were trying in vain not to spill their drinks, but Harry’s free hand had twisted itself in the front of Niall’s shirt, pulling him closer so he could chase the flavour of chocolate cupcakes from Niall’s mouth. Niall let his own fingers wind into Harry’s curls to hold him in place, just in case it was another year until he got to do this again. So maybe it wasn’t quite a ‘snog between mates’, but judging by the catcalls around them, that’s what it looked like from the outside. They didn’t break apart until a very familiar voice laughed, “How could you, Hazza? I thought I was your one and only!”

Harry hid his face in Niall’s neck, and Niall grinned at Louis over his head like Harry was amused too. Actually, he could hear Harry breathing shakily, and knew he was anything _but_. Louis winked and dragged Eleanor to the stairs.

“They’re getting a room,” Niall said, dropping the smile and patting the back of Harry’s head. “D’you want to stay at mine for the night?”

“So snogging, then leaving together? Whatever will people think?”

“That we’re shagging, I suppose,” said Niall. He said it as lightly as he could, in the hopes of making Harry lose that brittle quality to his voice, but he didn’t get a laugh. Harry hummed into his neck and then pressed his lips there for a long moment, intentions quite clear. Niall laughed, a little too loud. “What, seriously?”

Between pressing soft kisses to Niall’s neck, shoulder, and ear, Harry asked, “Do you not want to, then?”

Well, that wasn’t the issue. Niall wanted to, he really did. Even if he wasn’t entirely sure _what_ shagging a bloke would entail -- he’d resisted, many times, the urge to Google it for curiosity’s sake and was now berating himself for doing so -- anything that involved nakedness and some kind of solid surface had to end happily for everyone involved. Plus, he was buzzed enough from the beer that he could excuse any blushing and/or fumbling on his part. So he could do this. He could -- he could bring Harry back to his in an entirely non-platonic way and not freak out about it.

No, really, he could.

He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say in response, so he just stood, abruptly, and pulled Harry by his elbow off the sofa and out the door. It wasn’t easy to ignore the whispering and shouts directed at them, but Niall didn’t know how to respond to them, and the prospect of getting Harry out of his clothes was too good to pass up.

His door was locked, because he hadn’t wanted any of the partygoers making themselves at home, but he was regretting the decision as he cussed and struggled with his keys. Something so simple as putting a key in a lock and turning became incredibly difficult once you had Harry Styles plastered to your back and nibbling on your ear. Niall was just thankful that Harry’s hands stayed clasped to his hips -- he didn’t think he could handle any wandering hands at the moment.

When the door was open, he cheered a little, and Harry huffed laughter into the back of his neck. They kind of stumbled inside, though that was mostly Niall’s fault, as he’d lost his footing when Harry’s tongue traced the shell of his ear. Inside was good, though, so he wasn’t complaining. Harry kicked the door shut and then there was a moment in which the silence acknowledged how very awkward this could become if they weren’t careful. The last thing Niall wanted was any kind of awkward, so he turned and kissed Harry again, pressing him into the door in an almost gentle move.

That wasn’t at all what Harry wanted. He made an impatient noise into Niall’s mouth and pushed at the hem of his shirt, which raised goosebumps along Niall’s exposed skin. Well, all right.

Niall pulled back and raised his arms, allowing Harry to tug his shirt all the way off and throw it somewhere into the semi-darkness of his flat. He was about to lean in again, because he really liked the way Harry’s tongue curled around his own, but suddenly Harry wasn’t in front of him. Niall blinked.

“Where did you go?” he asked in an awed half-whisper.

He heard Harry laugh, and it sounded so genuine that he grinned stupidly at his door for a moment before looking down, where Harry had evidently dropped. He smiled into Niall’s hip, fingers working at undoing the buttons of Niall’s jeans. Oh. Okay. Niall was more than cool with the direction this was heading. He widened his stance instinctively, bringing his hands up to brace himself on the solid wood of the door.

“You’re good at that,” Niall said, because he felt the need to keep talking, to remind Harry who he was, just in case.... well, just in case. “The getting on your knees thing, I mean.”

“I’m good at some other stuff as well,” said Harry, sliding his fingers under the waistband of Niall’s jeans and pulling them down easily enough. He didn’t wear insanely tight jeans like the other boys were wont to, and sometimes that came in handy.

Harry was mouthing at Niall’s half-hard dick through his pants now, so Niall couldn’t be held liable for blurting, “Yeah, that was graceful, though. Like a gazelle or a deer or some shit.”

He hadn’t meant to make Harry laugh again, but it was a nice side effect.

“I don’t actually think deer know how to give head.” To illustrate his point, Harry pressed his mouth to the slightly dampened patch of fabric.

“Yeah, I think the Discovery Channel would be all over that. Some feature-length film -- Now There’s A Proper Stag Party.”

“Oh my god,” Harry said, sitting back on his heels to giggle into his own hands. “Are you always like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like a babbling teenager who’s never gotten a blowjob in their life.”

Niall couldn’t bring himself to be offended, not when Harry’s eyes were all crinkled and soft like that. That was the whole point of this, anyway -- making Harry happy. So, he wasn’t acting like this was a regular one-off fuck with a friend. Harry meant more to him than that, as much as he hated to admit it to himself, and he didn’t think he could act like anything other than an idiot fooling around with his best mate even if he wanted to.

He shrugged, which was answer enough for Harry. Fingers were pulling Niall’s pants down mid-thigh, since they didn’t seem likely to pool around his ankles like his poorly-fitted jeans had.

Harry wasted no time, then, in taking Niall in hand and licking up the underside of his dick. He didn’t have much finesse, but he knew how to suck on the head and push past his gag reflex, so while it was messy and uncoordinated and by no means the greatest blowjob Niall’d ever received, it was still really fucking good.

And maybe, like, a good chunk of the reason was that it was _Harry’s_ lips stretched around him, eyes locked with Niall’s like he was looking for some sort of approval. Niall gave it, gladly, turning back into the babbling teenage virgin for Harry’s benefit and carding his fingers through Harry’s curls to tug and hold fast, which Harry seemed to like. Which -- was a thing. A thing that Niall wasn’t going to think about too carefully, because he may still be a teenager in accordance to the UK laws, but he didn’t want to come that quickly, thanks ever so.

He used his grip on Harry’s hair to pull him off his dick, chuckling a bit at the ridiculous suction noise.

“What do you want?” he asked, ignoring the fondly exasperated expression on Harry’s face that he assumed was caused by his laughter. “I mean, like -- well, actually, that’s exactly what I mean. Haz, what do you want?”

All Niall knew about gay sex was that it was considered a sin -- meaning he shouldn’t think about it or ask about it or Google it with his hand down his pants -- and that there were twice as many dicks involved. He assumed, from the fact that Harry obviously knew his way around a penis, that he would know more than Niall did. At least Niall hoped so, or the potential for awkwardness was going to be raised, like, three hundred percent.

Harry thought about it, biting his lip and staring unashamedly at Niall’s cock. Niall had to remind himself that covering up wasn’t necessary, even if it was his first instinct.

“This is good,” he said eventually. “I like this.”

Yeah, well, Niall liked it too, but --

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me, christ.” Harry laughed. Niall thought that he probably shouldn’t be so pleased that Harry was so amused by, you know, sex with him, but it was hard _not_ to smile whenever Harry barked that silly laugh of his.

Well, fine. Niall pushed at Harry’s head until the wet heat of his mouth was once again enveloping Niall’s dick, and decided to just enjoy it while it lasted.

\---

A week. Niall decided he’d wait a week to see if Harry would bring it up, because he certainly wasn’t going to be that clingy guy who constantly tried talking about a friendly one-night-stand and making the other person uncomfortable, but after five days of _nothing_ he was getting tetchy.

It didn’t take long for the other boys to notice. Of course, nobody except Harry had any idea what was causing him to act how, Zayn claimed, his sisters behaved for a terrifying few days every month.

“All right, Nialler?” Zayn asked, peering into Niall’s bedroom cautiously. Niall emerged from his blankets to glare daggers at him. He knew giving Zayn a key was a bad idea, but he didn’t trust Louis with it -- and, by extension, Harry, who would go along with anything Louis said with stupid hearts in his eyes -- not that Niall was bitter or anything -- and there were certain hours of the morning he just did not want to deal with Liam. So, the make-sure-I’m-alive-every-few-days key went to Zayn.

“I’m peachy,” he snapped.

He thought Zayn would take the hint and leave. He was wrong.

“We’re all pretty worried,” he said. After a moment’s pause, he came in and sat at the foot of Niall’s bed. “Have you even got out of bed today, mate?”

“Should I have?”

“Well, yeah, it’s like four in the afternoon.”

Niall checked his watch and was only vaguely surprised to see that Zayn was correct. All right, so he was acting like a child. That was fine with him. Children didn’t get sucked off by one of their best friends and then treated like nothing was different for nearly a week. Niall hoped so, anyway.

He shrugged, burying his face in the nearest pillow and wishing Zayn would go away. Sadly, he did not.

“Lou and I were assuming it was a hangover,” said Zayn, “except I’ve never seen anyone be hungover for five whole days.”

“Well, now you have,” Niall said. “Don’t you have someplace to be?”

“Not really.” There were sounds like Zayn was making himself comfortable on Niall’s bed, and Niall had to remind himself that he’d get a lecture from Liam if he kicked him onto the floor.

“Can’t you find someplace to be?”

Zayn rubbed Niall’s exposed calf and said, “I want to know what’s wrong.”

“I slept with someone I shouldn’t have,” Niall said. He might as well tell him -- if it were Zayn holed up in his room, he’d want to know the issue, too. “At the party. Now I’m hiding because they haven’t called or whatever and I can feel myself growing a pussy, that’s how pathetic I feel.”

“Haz would want me to point out that that’s sexist,” said Zayn.

“Please go away.”

For a long time, Zayn didn’t say anything. If his thumb wasn’t still stroking Niall’s ankle, Niall would’ve thought he’d listened for once. As it was, he laid there and waited for whatever it was Zayn was going to say. Eventually:

“Well, why don’t you call her? Girls usually wait for blokes to make the first move, do they not?”

“ _That’s_ sexist,” Niall said triumphantly, raising his head to smirk at Zayn. “And I can’t do that. I’m, like, eighty percent sure they’re in love with some other guy. I was just -- convenient, I guess.”

“Oh, that blows, mate,” Zayn said. He looked much more sympathetic, suddenly.

Niall nodded. “Yeah, it kind of does.”

\---

When Niall’s mobile rang, he didn’t answer it. It was probably his mum, or Liam, and either way the conversation tended to sound much the same. His ringtone went off three more times, though, and by the fourth he was starting to get annoyed at Bieber’s voice, so he pressed the talk button and grunted a greeting.

“Zayn says you’re waiting for me to call.”

Wonderful. That was just Niall’s luck, really. He considered hanging up, but he knew Harry wouldn’t give up that easily.

“Does he?”

“Well,” Harry said, and Niall didn’t even want to try and guess what he was thinking. Probably something about how pitiful Niall was, curled in bed because he’d misunderstood the meaning of a rebound blowjob. “I’m calling.”

“I can see that,” said Niall.

Harry laughed, and there was an edge of nerves to it that made Niall sink farther into his safe haven of blankets. He’d ruined it, he really had. He didn’t dabble in melodrama so much as Louis tended to, but he was definitely considering moving to Guam under a fake name, growing a beard, and starting his own chain of pet stores. He’d sell exotic animals, but not rabbits. Never rabbits.

“I’m, um,” Harry said, and Niall braced himself for the apology. “I'm outside your door. Zayn wouldn’t give me his key.”

Pulling the covers off himself, Niall looked quizzically at his bedroom door, like he could see beyond it and through the rest of his flat, to where Harry was apparently standing. “Why didn’t you just knock?”

“Because you wanted me to call, I thought,” Harry said. “That’s what Zayn said. He said that you were sulking because some girl at New Year’s hadn’t called you, and unless you’re some kind of sex ninja I’m pretty sure you meant me, so I’m, you know, calling.”

“I don’t understand,” Niall admitted.

“Just -- let me in, Nialler? I promise you can get right back in bed.”

That sounded a bit like Harry was coming on to him. Niall sighed and stood up for the first time that day, waiting a moment for the dizzy spell to end. Why was Harry doing this? If Niall didn’t know him, he’d think Harry was taking the mick, but that wasn’t the sort of person Harry was. Probably Niall was just in for a cuddle and apologies for being led on. Which would still be fine -- at least Harry was acknowledging something had happened, yeah.

He hung up his phone before he opened the door, because he thought he’d look pretty silly facing Harry with the mobile still tucked to his ear.

“Hi,” said Harry. He smiled easily enough, but his eyes were focused somewhere to the left of Niall’s ear, which wasn’t exactly promising. Niall moved aside to let Harry in, and Harry smiled just a bit wider, like he hadn’t known whether to expect that or not.

Once the door was closed, an awkward silence fell over them. Niall was never very good at awkward silences, probably the worst in the band -- Zayn had mastered them, and Louis was under the impression that if he pretended nothing was awkward it would become true -- so before Harry had the chance to start making small talk or something equally stupid, he said, “You didn’t need to come over, Hazza.”

“Sure I did,” Harry said.

He still wasn’t looking at Niall; glancing around the flat instead like it would give him answers Niall couldn’t. Niall thought about offering a drink, or at least sitting down, but he just wanted this part of the conversation over with so he could get to the pity cuddles.

“Look,” Niall said when it was obvious Harry wasn’t going to say anything else very soon, “I know I’m being a twat, okay, I know why you -- I mean, I’m not an idiot, I know it was about Louis, not me, and that’s -- you know, that’s _fine_ , I don’t really care to be honest, but could you stop acting like it didn’t happen? That’s what’s bugging me. That you’re just, whatever, acting like everything’s normal when it’s not.”

Harry’s eyes met his, then, and he sighed. That speech had taken a lot out of him, and now he was content to hug his own elbows and wait for Harry to respond.

When he did, it was soft; Niall had to strain his ears to catch the words. “It _was_ about Louis, yeah,” Harry said, fiddling with the bracelet he’d gotten from Leeds festival. “You’re not wrong.”

“I wasn’t phrasing it like a question, mate, I knew going in, even though no one else has caught on.”

“There are a few thousand girls on Twitter who have, actually,” Harry said. “And I’m sorry.”

Niall groaned. “Don’t do that, don’t be sorry. I’m the twat here, I knew what I was getting into. You’re in love with him, aren’t you, and I just wanted -- well, it’s pretty obvious what I wanted, but don’t be _sorry_ , please. I don’t know how to deal with a Harry that’s sorry.”

The beginnings of a smirk were playing around the corners of Harry’s mouth. “Oh? So I should be completely unapologetic for using you and then pretending we were still the same mates we were before?”

“Yes,” Niall said.

Harry barked a laugh.

“I don’t understand you, Nialler,” he said, but he was full-on smiling and also, Niall thought, moving a bit closer. It might’ve just been his mind playing tricks on him, though. “You were okay with being, like, picked second, is that it?”

“I’d be okay with any number, honestly, so long as I’m the one getting to kiss you,” Niall said, a blush creeping up his ears.

“Oh,” Harry said, except he didn’t really say it so much as _breathe_ it, and Niall wondered when exactly he’d gotten so close that Niall could hear the exhale. Then he decided he didn’t care all that much, and met Harry’s gaze stubbornly. After a long, long look, Harry closed the gap between them and pressed their lips together, keeping his eyes wide to gauge Niall’s reaction. Niall kissed back, a bit, because despite the fact that his breath must smell like a homeless man took refuge in his mouth, kissing Harry was still in the number three spot on his list of favourite things.

He pulled back, not very far, and for the sole purpose of asking, “Are you still using me?”

“Yes,” said Harry.

Niall brought a hand up to brush Harry’s hair from his forehead and shrugged. “Okay,” he said, ducking in to steal more kisses from Harry’s willing lips.


End file.
